


coming home (or the story of how wilbur soot admits that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to do the whole parenthood-thing alone)

by crimesiscrying



Series: I Gave A Child To One Minecraft Player, Here's What Happened (wilbur soot vs parenthood ft sleepy bois inc) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Baby Floris | Fundy, Betaed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Possibly OOC, Rated T for TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo and Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, ao3 stop using their actual names in the tags challenge, being a parent is difficult okay, how came wilbur and sally don't have a tag yet, my first fic please don't slaughter me, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, sorta - Freeform, the author's sentences last half a page and have far too many commas i'm sorry, wilbur soot is not having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimesiscrying/pseuds/crimesiscrying
Summary: Wilbur sighed, standing up and wincing at the way his back popped after hunching over the two small bags - one for himself, one for Fundy- that were now sitting on the end of his bed. He glanced out of the window, where the horizon was slowly getting lighter, heralding the arriving day. Then he looked at his bed, where his 14-month-old toddler was still asleep, curled up under Wilbur’s far-too-big comforter.-Wilbur Soot has decided that parenthood is hard. Scratch that, parenthood is fucking impossible. At least it is when your girlfriend leaves you alone with your newborn son and you have no family or friends to help you out.After trying his best for quite some time, he decides that his 'best' is not even close to what his son deserves, packs their things and travels back to his childhood home. His family might hate him, but surely they wouldn't turn away a child with nowhere to go?(spoiler alert: they don't)(hate him, that is)
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot/Sally the Salmon
Series: I Gave A Child To One Minecraft Player, Here's What Happened (wilbur soot vs parenthood ft sleepy bois inc) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182467
Comments: 23
Kudos: 232





	coming home (or the story of how wilbur soot admits that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to do the whole parenthood-thing alone)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work in the fandom and my first published work, period. I wrote it because my school laptop died and obviously the only way to handle that is to write fan fiction about block men. anyway suffer the consequences of my inability to end sentences where they should end bye

Wilbur sighed, standing up and wincing at the way his back popped after hunching over the two small bags - one for himself, one for Fundy- that were now sitting on the end of his bed. He glanced out of the window, where the horizon was slowly getting lighter, heralding the arriving day. Then he looked at his bed, where his 14-month-old toddler was still asleep, curled up under Wilbur’s far-too-big comforter. If he left early, they would be out of the village before sunrise, and hopefully halfway through the journey before he’d have to stop to feed Fundy. Wilbur sighed and quietly thanked whatever gods were listening for the fact that they hadn’t lived in the pitiful little cabin for long enough to really build up that many possessions. Sky gods knew how difficult traveling would already be, with the two bags and a toddler that was now mercifully asleep but would surely want to start running around the moment he woke up. 

Wilbur was torn away from his thoughts as he heard the birds outside start to wake up as the morning grew nearer. Cursing himself, he scooped up his child and grabbed the bags before giving the house one last once-over. After ensuring that nothing valuable was going to be left behind, he closed the door behind himself one last time and started his journey.

Despite leaving so early, the sun was starting to set by the time Wilbur saw the first marks of the familiar biome he grew up in. Yawning, he pointed out the slowly falling snowflakes to Fundy, who was already half asleep, curled up against his chest. The child had woken up around midday, tired out by staying up late the night before, and spent the day running around and happily shrieking at every sign of life they saw. Huh, Wilbur had thought, I really should get the kid out of the house more. With only minimal breaks to make sure Fundy was staying warm and fed they had made good progress, and Wilbur dared to hope that they might make it to Phil’s house before midnight. 

During the long trek, he had managed to both calm down his nerves and work himself up to a quiet panic. There was no way he would get the warm welcome he had harbored hope for quite some time after leaving his childhood home; his stormy exit and the following radio silence had surely taken care of killing any and all familial responsibility his adoptive father and siblings might’ve once felt towards him. At the moment, his only hope was that they could look past their resentment long enough to take in Fundy, who despite his relations to Wilbur was a good kid and deserved a better home than what Wilbur could ever give to him. Sure, it would break his heart to leave his son behind, but he could do it if he was sure that Fundy was in good hands. After all, Wilbur couldn’t imagine a better place for a child than the home Phil had created for his adopted children, the amount of which seemed to rise with every passing year. 

Wilbur chuckled softly at the thought, trying his best not to jostle the child sleeping under his cloak, a small spot of warmth in the all-encompassing cold that had surrounded them as the night fell. Pulling the cloak tighter around the both of them, Wilbur hurried his steps across the snowy plains. The panic sitting in the pit of his stomach and wrapping around his ribs quieted as he concentrated on getting Fundy out of the cold and in front of a fireplace as soon as possible. 

Unfortunately, his break from the constant anxiety and fear was a short one. As soon as the lights of the house broke through the darkness around them, the panic reared its ugly head. Wilbur pushed through his nerves and the shin-deep snow to get to the front door and only with a minimal tremble to his hands, raised his fist and knocked.

For the longest time, there was no response. Frankly, there very well could’ve been one but it’s not like Wilbur would’ve heard it with the way his heart was pounding like it was trying to get through his ribs. Then, after what felt both like years and a few seconds, the door opened and Wilbur was met with the face of the man he once called his father. 

“Wilbur?” Phil’s eyes were filled with surprise and disbelief and, if Wilbur allowed himself the tiniest bit of self-deception, hope. “What are you doing here?”

“Dad, I’m sorry, I know it’s late and I haven’t talked to any of you for years and you probably hate me and it’s okay I would hate me too but I really really need your help I can’t do this alone I can’t, I’ll do anything, just take him in please, you can turn me away, I’ll leave if you want me to, just please take him in he needs somebody better than me, please-” His tear-filled rant was cut short when he was suddenly pulled into a hug that was so familiar that if Wilbur hadn’t already been crying, he surely would’ve been now. He felt his father’s hand run through his hair, and somewhere in his tired and overworked brain he registered the quiet murmuring in the background as Phil talking to him. 

After a moment, Phil pulled away and led Wilbur into the blessedly-warm house, where he held his son at an arm’s length and gave him a quick once-over. Then, he finally met Wilbur’s eyes and the sharp edge of worry in his gaze quickly melted away into care and quiet concern. “Wilbur, what the hell are you talking about, mate? Of course you’re welcome here, you always were. I’d never turn you away, and I have no idea where you got that idea into your head.” Sighing quietly, Phil shook his head and Wilbur finally got his panicked brain to calm down enough to really take in the man in front of him. Phil looked older, more so than one would expect for a man to change in three years. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that used to only appear when he was laughing had made permanent residence on his face, and Wilbur could swear that the man hadn’t had such prominent worry lines the last time he had seen him. Nonetheless, his eyes were just as bright as Wilbur had recalled, and his smile, though small, was just as gentle as ever. Apparently, his dreadful fashion sense was still the exact same as well, as evident by the green robes he was for some fucking reason wearing. The man hadn’t even bothered to try out new colors or something during the three years Wilbur had been gone.

“Sit down,” Phil said finally and gestured to the couch in the middle of the room with a wave of his hand, “You must be freezing.” Numbly, Wilbur made his way to the aged piece of furniture and sat down, wary of the small lump clinging to his side that had yet to stir. Somewhere in his muddled brain he realised that he hadn’t seen a single one of his siblings the entire time he had been there. He was just about to ask his father of their whereabouts when the man in question fixed him with a warm but curious gaze. 

“I can’t say that I got that much out of your rambling earlier, but I distinctly remember you mentioning a ‘him’ couple of times,” Phil said. It wasn’t a question, he hadn’t phrased it like a question, but his tone still made it sound like one. Wilbur cursed quietly under his breath, and almost unknowingly tightened his hold on the child asleep under his cloak. Phil must’ve sensed his unease, because his gaze softened, and he quietly added, “Whoever it is, just know that we won’t hurt him. He’ll be just as welcome here as you are.”

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace and Wilbur’s heartbeats that were threatening to pick up pace again. Wilbur fixed his eyes on the floor in front of him and barely contained a surprised jolt when his dad placed a hand on his knee. Only then he realised that it was shaking; an old nervous habit of his. Apparently, three years was nothing on Phil’s ability to read his sons like an open book. 

Wilbur swallowed past the lump in his throat a few times and took a shuddering breath. “I.. you remember Sally, right?” He waited for a second until Phil nodded before continuing, “we.. we lived together for a while after I- after I left. We were super happy, Sally and me. We talked about- about marriage and traveling the world and building a home and maybe, one day, having a little family of our own.” Wilbur stopped to draw in another shuddering breath, suddenly aware of the stinging and slowly building pressure behind his eyes. He blinked furiously for a moment, and concentrated on the slow breaths of his son, his son, still sleeping and spreading warmth into Wilbur’s suddenly chilled bones like a furnace. He tightened his hold on the boy, shifting a little, and took another breath against the tears threatening to fall.

“After a while, it got more difficult. Sally wanted to see the world, y’know, she didn’t want to be bound to one place, and I- I missed having a familiar place to return to. I missed having a home. And- and we made it work, for a while, she would travel and come back every few weeks and i would build us a home and it was good again, and she would laugh again, and I thought that we could make it work, I really did. But then she- then she got pregnant, and we had this huge argument, our biggest fight since we met, and she yelled at me and said something about me holding her back, about how she told me she didn’t want a family yet, and we agreed to just give the kid away. But then he was born, and I held him, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that, y’know? I felt like I would do anything for this kid. And I knew that I couldn’t just give him away, I couldn’t, so after talking a bit me and Sally decided that it’d be better for both of us- better for all of us, if she just left. And after that, I was alone with this kid, I named him Floris after his grandma, but he likes Fundy more so we just use that. And I thought that I could do it, but as it turns out, I’m just as shitty of a dad as I am a son or a partner, so it didn’t really work out.”

Wilbur was crying now, he always was when talking about what happened to his idyllic little family. He let out a bitter laugh and rubbed at his eyes furiously, but all it did was stain his sleeve with tears. He glanced at Phil, who looked like he wanted to say something, but Wilbur had just poured his heart out to the man and was not in the right headspace to listen to a rant about responsibility and fatherhood and being a grownup, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to hear a single one of Phil’s disappointed sighs or see his pitying looks, so instead of letting him talk, Wilbur barged on.

“So I thought, that since I can’t do this alone, I need someone to help me out, and I didn’t really know anyone, or at least anyone I could trust with my son, so I decided, y’know, that you guys might hate me and all but you wouldn’t turn away a child, you couldn’t, so I thought that I might as well ask you guys if you could take in Fundy, or at least look after him while I find someone else to do it, so now I’m here.” The room was silent after Wilbur finished, and he decided to not even try to meet his father’s eyes and instead just attempt boring holes into the wooden floor with his gaze. His head hurt, whether from exhaustion or stress or the impromptu crying session he just had, he didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. He was uncomfortably warm now, sweat dripping down his neck and gluing the back of his shirt onto his skin. He shifted uncomfortably and prayed to whoever was listening that Phil would just say something, anything to kill the quiet that was buzzing in his ears.

“Wilbur,” Phil finally whispered, “ I am so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.” Apparently the universe had decided that Wilbur hadn’t suffered enough emotional whiplash that day, he thought as his brain worked overtime to process his father’s words. 

Deciding to put the sentiment into words, he uttered a quiet “What in the actual fuck did you just say?” At the bewildered look on his father’s face he continued, “Did you hear a single word i just said? I went and fucked up the only thing that was good in my life, fucked over the life of someone I thought I loved more than anything and can’t even take care of my own son. Which part of that is screaming “you should be sorry about this” to you?”

Wilbur looked back at Phil, and the look of pure sadness on his face was enough to snap Wilbur out of the resentment and hatred at himself that was bubbling up in his stomach and leaving a venomous aftertaste on his tongue. His father sighed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and whispered a quiet “Oh, Wilbur.” before pulling his son into a hug. They sat like that for a while, and Wilbur was pretty sure that he had started crying again at some point, if the wetness on his face and on his father’s shoulder was anything to go by. 

The moment was broken by sudden movement against Wilbur’s side, and before either of the men could react, a small face crowned with red curls and two tiny fox ears popped out from underneath his cloak. Phil and Wilbur were quiet for a moment, staring at the child who, from Phil’s point of view, had appeared from virtually nowhere, before the child let out a loud squeal and grabbed a handful of his grandfather’s blonde hair. 

Wilbur barked out a surprised laugh as Phil scrambled to free his hair from the toddler’s grip as gently but quickly as possible. “Morning, buddy,” he said through wheezing laughter, “I thought we had a talk about good first impressions. That’s no way to greet your grandfather, y’know.” Despite his words, Wilbur made no attempt to stop his son from speeding up his grandfather’s aging process via a sudden hair loss, instead opting to laugh at the man’s misery. 

When Phil had finally freed himself from Fundy’s iron grip, he ran his hand gently through the kid’s hair and said quietly, “Hello little buddy, you must be Fundy then yeah?” The boy giggled, seemingly unbothered both by the fact that he was sitting in a stranger’s house in the middle of the night and that the stranger was currently scratching him behind his ear, donning a pair of large, gray wings and the ugliest get-up Wilbur had ever laid his eyes on. Distantly, the man hoped that fashion sense was, first of all, not inheritable and secondly, hadn’t skipped a generation and accidentally cursed his son with a penchant for ugly-as-fuck fisher hats and wooden sandals. He could forgive his son for almost anything, but looking Wilbur in the eye and telling him to buy any clothing item inspired by his father’s wardrobe? Yeah, no way in hell.

Wilbur pulled Fundy properly into his lap and finally took off the disgustingly warm cloak, adjusting the hold on his kid as he tossed the garment to the floor. The short moment of silence was broken when Phil looked at Wilbur with a smirk on his face and said, “So… a fox, huh?” 

Wilbur snorted and shoved his father slightly on the side, curling a protective hand around his son. “Shut up, it’s probably just your hybrid genes anyway. Your or Sally’s, either way, I don’t give a shit.” Phil laughed and raised his hands in surrender, before he got up with a groan. 

“Anyway, it’s getting pretty damn late, don’t you think? How about we get some food in you and then go to bed, gods know you must be tired.” Any attempt to argue with his father that Wilbur could’ve made were cut short by a massive yawn. Phil only raised an eyebrow at him before making his way to the kitchen. “You really should get to sleep soon, the boys will probably be breaking down your door before sunrise. They missed you, you know.” Wilbur ignored the pointed look Phil sent his way in favor of fussing over his son, making sure that he was sitting securely in one of the chairs around the kitchen table and taking off some of the many layers of clothing he had covered the kid in as soon as they had passed the edge between the warmer biomes and the arctic his family resided in. Fundy was being surprisingly cooperative, his tired brain only now registering the strange place and the even stranger man who was currently warming up some mushroom stew on the furnace. The child’s big eyes followed Phil’s every movement, small, growl-like sounds coming from his mouth every time the man came closer than what the 14-month old kid deemed a safe distance. Wilbur laughed quietly, ruffling the kid’s hair as he pulled the chair closer to the table. 

“It’s okay kid, he’s not going to bite you. Or me, for that matter.” Fundy turned to look at him, and in Wilbur’s opinion no child should possess the ability to look as comically disappointed and betrayed as his son did in that moment. “C’mon now, it’s just your grandpa, okay? Nothing to be worried about, buddy. Gods, I know I haven’t done a good job in socializing you but this is a bit too much, don’t you think?” The child didn’t look any more at ease than he did before, but at least now he was glaring at Wilbur instead of Phil, who had started to look almost upset at the kid’s sudden distrust.

Finally, the stew was ready, and Phil sat down at the table after handing Wilbur a bowl of the food. Despite the fact that Wilbur had fed him while waiting for the stew to heat up, Fundy seemed insistent on trying to get his hands on as much of his father’s food as he could. Mostly this meant that it was Phil’s turn to stifle his laughter as Wilbur tried to keep his kid from burning his hands on the steaming food, all the while letting out a litany of curses that anybody would agree was not appropriate language around a very impressionable 14-month-old. Finally, after an amount of near-burns that Wilbur loudly announced was far too much for his poor heart, everyone at the table had been fed while sustaining only a minimal amount of injuries. Bidding good night to his father, Wilbur gathered his son in his arms and after grabbing the bags he had left by the door, made his way upstairs as quietly as possible. He was surprised to find his room in the exact same condition as he had left it in, and, while blinking back tears that were once again threatening to fuck up his already-aching head, put his son down in the bed as carefully as he could. Fortunately, the late-night dinner and the excitement of the new place had worn out the kid enough that it only took a few moments of Wilbur humming his old songs for Fundy to be deep in dreamland. Stretching his aching joints, Wilbur slipped under the covers and followed his son soon after.

The peace, as always, only lasted a short while. The sun had barely risen when the door to his room was nearly thrown off its hinges as a far-too-energetic-for-the-current-hour teenager barged his way in, screaming Wilbur’s name and very nearly giving the man a damn heart attack. After a few incredibly confusing moments Wilbur remembered where he was and turned around to glare at his little brother. “Keep your voice low, fucker, it’s barely morning,” he hissed.

“Well nice to see you after two years of silence too, bitch,” Tommy retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring back at Wilbur with just as much ferocity. Wilbur’s chest ached at the words.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sorry for disappearing, okay? I was being stupid. I’m here now, if you’ll let me, Toms.” He was staring at the floor and therefore missed the way Tommy rolled his eyes and, more importantly, the way the teenager took a few steps forward and then dropped onto his brother like a sack of potatoes. Which is to say, heavy, boneless and not about to move on his own.

“it’s whatever, dude, just don’t do it again,” the boy grumbled against his chest, hands coming up to grab at Wilbur’s shirt. For a moment, the room was quiet. Wilbur was mindlessly petting his brother’s hair and trying to figure out some sort of game plan for when he’d inevitably have to face Techno, when Tommy let out a loud shriek.

“YOUR BED IS FUCKING MOVING,” the kid yelled and bolted up from the bed, wild eyes staring at the slowly moving lump next to Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur stared at his brother in confusion, then followed his gaze until he saw what had caused Tommy’s panic, and burst into laughter.

“What the fuck bitch, are you laughing at me? Your bed is fucking alive and you’re laughing at me?” At that point, Tommy looked more bewildered and offended than scared, and after a moment, he started smiling too. “C’mon big man, just tell me what’s so funny. What the fuck are you laughing at?”

But before Wilbur could gain his breathing back enough to give his brother a satisfying answer, an annoyed-looking piglin hybrid walked into the room and stopped dead on his tracks. Wilbur’s laughter died down instantly. 

“Wilbur? What the fuck are you doing here?” The man Wilbur had once seen as his twin in anything but blood stared at him like he’d seen a ghost. His long pink hair was still a mess of bed hair, his pajamas were crumpled and his mouth was slightly ajar, revealing his ever-growing tusks, but the sight of him was still enough to make Wilbur more anxious than he’d been since knocking on the house’s door the night before. 

“Uh, sup Techno?” Wilbur was painfully aware of the way it sounded more like a question than a greeting, the way his voice shook, the way his eyes kept darting between his two brothers and the door, the way his hands were sweating and shaking ever so slightly. Damn it, he was talking with the man he would die for, the man who Wilbur was positive would’ve once died for him too, and he was panicking like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar. The piglin stared at him for a moment longer before he crossed the room with a few quick strides and pulled Wilbur into a bone-crushing hug. 

Wilbur was pretty sure that he had missed a part of the chat they’d just had. Scratch that, he was sure he had missed the entire fucking conversation. Tommy looked confused too, looking between Techno’s shoulders and bowed head and the face of his other, estranged-until-apparently-the-night-before brother, who looked almost comically like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Techno was quiet for a long time, and Wilbur didn’t feel too keen on opening his mouth either, in fear of somehow ruining the moment. Even Tommy, who usually could be trusted to fill the awkward silences with his nonsensical blabbering, had elected to stay silent. Fortunately Wilbur’s son, who had stopped worming around underneath the blanket when Techno had walked into the room, did not possess such restraint and instead decided to make his presence known by grabbing two fistfuls of pink hair that had fallen in front of his face. Unbeknownst to him, those strands were connected on the other end to the scalp of the Blood God, who let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a loud squeak. The tension in the room broke as Wilbur and Tommy burst into laughter and Techno let go of his brother’s shoulders to figure out what the hands hanging from his hair were attached to. Upon finding the assailant, he grabbed the toddler under the armpits and raised the kid into the air. 

“What the fuck, Wilbur? Why is there a kid in your bed?” Wilbur wiped at his eyes and got up to free his brother’s hair from Fundy’s grip before the kid got any more ideas regarding hair. The last time he had decided that Wilbur was his horse had been more painful than Wilbur cared to admit.

“Tommy, Techno, say hi to Fundy. He’s your nephew.” Wilbur extracted the child from his brother and placed him on his hip with practiced movements, trying his best to ignore the stares he was receiving from his brothers. “Fundy, hey, these guys are your uncles. The big scary one is Techno, he looks menacing but he’s actually a huge softie, you know the type. The tiny gremlin fuck is Tommy, he’s loud and kinda funny but just bite him if he gets too much and he’ll fuck right off, got it?” He laughed a bit at Tommy’s indignant squeak and readjusted his hold on Fundy before looking back at his brothers. 

Tommy was looking at Fundy with curious eyes, whereas Techno looked like he had just aged a decade in the span of five minutes. “A child. My brother has a child. A literal toddler. What the fuck, what the fuck,” the piglin hybrid muttered under his breath, staring at the child in question like he was expecting him to sprout wings or something. After no such magical transformations seemed to happen, he turned back to Wilbur and repeated, slightly louder this time, “You have a child. What the fuck, Wil?”

Wilbur let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you know, when a man and a woman love each other very, very much-” he didn’t get any further before Techno rolled his eyes and shoved at Wilbur’s shoulder lightly. 

“Fuck off, you know what I meant. Anyway, lets go get some breakfast, it’s far too early for this shit.” Wilbur nodded in agreement and stifled a yawn. 

“You guys go ahead, I need to change Fundy and grab his food.” Techno nodded and left the room, grumbling something about old age and heart attacks, and after a final curious look at the toddler in his brother’s arms and a mock salute, Tommy followed behind him. Once again alone, Wilbur let out a long sigh and sat back down on the bed. This is going to be a long fucking day.

Once Fundy was dressed in something suitable for meeting an entire half of his family he hadn’t known had existed up until that point, and Wilbur had run out of excuses to not leave the safety of his room, the pair appeared in the kitchen downstairs. Techno was standing in front of the furnace, evidently cooking some sort of breakfast, and at the table was sitting Tommy, babbling away about something with his long arms flailing everywhere, Tubbo, with his dark hair covering his eyes, leaning his head on his hand, and some kid that Wilbur had never seen before. He was tall and gangly, around the same age as Wilbur’s two little brothers, and both his skin and hair were a mix of black and white, the two colors split down the middle of his face and down his neck. The child looked dead on his feet, clearly not used to being awake at such an hour, but was commendably enduring the endless stream of words that was currently leaving Tommy’s mouth. 

At Wilbur’s appearance, all three of the teenagers looked up and he was met with looks of excitement, surprise and confusion. Tubbo, looking far more awake, jumped to his feet and rounded the table as quickly as he could. With a happy “Wilbur!” the kid crashed into him, wrapping him into a tight hug. Wilbur did his best to return the hug, shifting his hold on Fundy to accommodate for the new kid in his arms.

“Hi Tubbo,” he responded with a warm smile. “Been a while, huh?” At that, Tubbo pulled away to glare at him halfheartedly. Before he could say anything though, Wilbur was saved from the wrath of his brother by Tommy, who had apparently managed to coax the new kid into getting up to greet Wilbur. Coaxed, because the teen still looked positively terrified, staring at Wilbur and Fundy with fear in his eyes.

“Wilbur, this here is Ranboo! He’s half enderman so he’s not too into eye contact so try to avoid that, will you, and he forgets a lot of shit which is why he has memory books! Ranboo, this is the big man himself right here, you’ve heard about Wilbur right? Anyway Wilbur’s real nice, you don’t have anything to worry about, the kid’s probably more dangerous anyway. His name is Fundy, he’s a hybrid, or I don’t know if he is since Wilbur never said anything but I’m assuming he is, since he has the ears and the tail, y’know? Which means that we have yet another hybrid in the family, which is pretty fucking cool, and-” 

Wilbur cut off Tommy with a laugh and a warm smile aimed towards the enderman hybrid, who was starting to look like he’d rather be anywhere but there with each passing moment. “Thank you, Tommy. Nice to meet you, Ranboo, I’m Wilbur, unfortunately related to that gremlin right there,” Wilbur said, nodding towards Tommy. “Also, yes, Fundy’s a hybrid. Don’t let him bite you, his canines are sharp as fuck.” With that, Wilbur nodded at the teenager who was starting to look less like he was going to bolt at any second, and made his way to Techno. 

“A new victim of Phil’s parental instincts, huh?” he whispered to the piglin hybrid who let out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, the man still seems insistent on adopting anything that moves. I’m sure that even if Fundy wasn’t your actual kid, he would’ve become part of the family already,” Techno said, no hints of malice in his voice. “He’s got a problem. Would love to psychoanalyze that sometime but you know what they say about gift horses and all,” the man mused and leaned down to check on the meats in the furnace. “Breakfast’s almost ready,” he announced to the room as a whole.

Wilbur sat down at the table where the teenagers had settled down again, grabbing Fundy’s food on the way to his seat and starting to work on feeding his kid. Fundy was clearly thinking similarly, trying to grab the spoon from his father’s hands despite not possessing anywhere close to the fine motor skills needed to feed oneself and generally making breakfast a bit messier affair for everyone involved. Somewhere between the third and fifth spoonful that ended up anywhere but in the toddler’s mouth, a still sleepy-looking Phil made his way into the kitchen and nodded his family good morning. As Wilbur concentrated on wiping the food from his son’s face before the kid had time to spread it anywhere else and failing spectacularly at the task, he listened to his brothers’ loud conversation - loud mostly because of a certain blonde re-enacting a story Wilbur was positive was at least half made up- and even louder laughter - that could, once again, be blamed on the aforementioned teenager- and let himself relax for the first time in what felt like years. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright.


End file.
